Concert Review: The Spork Does Justice And Diplo

Editor’s Note: Affable, porn-stached Cinema Blend Music correspondent Karl Spork stopped by the Justice/Diplo concert in Chicago last week. Rather than writing a review adhering to conventional grammar rules or reasonable structure constraints, he emailed over this stream-of-consciousness paragraph, no doubt penned after pounding half a bottle of Knob Creek whiskey. Sounds like a hell of a night...

If you are a Chicago-based electrodance disciple, then Daft Punk’s set
@ Lollapalooza ’07 was your grassy knoll of Dallas. The gravity of the
situation boggled the mind when the robotman icon was blown up to epic
proportions on a windowed 50-story building overlooking the venue.
Unbelievable French connection part deux – Justice – filled the Riviera
Theater Thursday night along with remix-master Diplo. However, the
similarities hardly stop at “Parisian Duo”. Instantly recognizable hand
sign? Check. But, no offense to the ancient Egyptians or the Legend of
Zelda, the Daft Punk triforce might be construed as slightly less
sacriligeous as the Christian cross. Also, penalty points to Justice
because the sign can be made with either the index fingers, which
resembles Dick Bavetta T’ing up a French NBAer (maybe Tony Parker?) or
with the entire arms, which looks like you’re either flipping someone
the bird or pantomiming donkey fisting. It doesn’t matter. Or, I
suppose I should say, since I write all of this with a detached mind
because at the time, it didn’t matter. I didn’t care and neither did
the people who were doing it.

The music was moving around us and
through us, and there we were, a thousand strong, packed
shoulder-to-shoulder or, in some cases, shoulder-to-forehead. My
apologies to the tiny Asian girl next to me as the encore started and
the crowd surged forward. The surges and swells of the crowd matched
the music, so you abandoned holding your ground. You traveled. You
danced next to the sweaty bearded European guy. You grinded with the
attractive girl who gave your friend a free Myspace hat for his
Birthday. (Thanks.) You danced with yourself because the music made you
feel like you were the only thing alive. You opened your eyes and
everything was alive. At the end, you were back with whom you were
leaving, but Justice, two sweaty Frenchman chain-smoking and donned in
leather, had already fucked your fanny hard.